I don’t want to write tonight. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I want to crawl back into my bed and forget. The thought of being under the covers actually makes me wistful. Sleeping is my favorite part of the day. I wake up every morning wishing that I didn’t have to. I prolong my time in bed for as long as possible even as I feel shame and guilt for doing so.
Sleeping until 11 AM is one more way I feel like crap about myself. For some reason, I always associate being a happy person with being a morning person. I’ve always thought it would be better to be the person who rises at 6:30 and is smiling by 6:35, faced with the prospect of a new day in which anything is possible. I, on the other hand, get out of bed by force of guilt for a dog who is too well trained to pee on my living room floor. I am resentful before my day begins because of the sheer fact that it has begun. I was happier in my dream. I can almost guarantee it.
I was thinking on my last walk of the night about joining the Peace Corp or trying to find some kind of volunteer position in my field abroad. I’m currently unemployed and supposedly looking for work. I spent about an hour on Craig’s list today. I’m clearly dragging my feet. I’m less clear on why. I don’t want to be where I am. The idea of moving somewhere new, of starting over someplace where I can be unknown, feels like a long exhalation after a held breath. I want to retreat. I want to leave my current urbanity for something softer, quieter, where there’s more space than cars or people. I want to be on my own in a way that I don’t think I ever have been. I want to stop running from myself and spend some quality time with myself. I want to know what’s here. I want that and I think I can have it. But instead of looking for it, I spent my day walking, lying on the grass, eating, finishing season 4 of Dawson’s Creek (and starting season 5).
I think the truth is quite simple in this case. I’m scared. I know what my next right step is. The rightness of it rings like a chime through the center of me. It feels good to think about. It feels like the moment my life has been building toward. But god, I think it’s going to change everything, and that’s what terrifies me: everything I sense is coming not so far down along the bend. And I feel like I’ve lost the option of choice. I can drag my feet, but I can’t move them in any direction but down the path on which I’m already treading. Part of me wants to fight like hell to go any other way. Part of me wishes I could sleep through the in between. I don’t want to be where I am, and there’s absolutely no where else I could be. It feels a little bit like torture.
So, yeah, for tonight I’ll find my release in dreaming myself someplace else, and for the 8-10 hours that dream is real, I’ll be happy. I can almost guarantee it.